


Web

by HundredSunsets



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: In Which Barriss Performs a Moral Gymnastics Routine and Falls Off the Beam, actually don't looking in the mirror at night is creepy, anyway, i wrote this at two in the morning, like I said! it was unearthly o'clock in the morning!, loosely inspired by my own encounter with a spider in the sink the other day, obviously takes place around the end of season five which I haven't seen in ages, so certain details might be a little eeeh, so hold the mirror up to your own two a.m. efforts before you hold it up to mine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 22:35:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18559279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HundredSunsets/pseuds/HundredSunsets
Summary: Everything is justifiable and nothing is justified.





	Web

  
There’s a spider in the sink.

It’s late afternoon, at a guess. It’s tipping it down outside, and there’s a spider in the sink. Barriss only came in here to make a cup of tea, and now she’s frozen, one hand on the kettle, the other reaching for the tap. It’s disgusting. It’s all long legs and next to no body, and it’s standing rigid by the plughole, staring right back at her with eyes too small to be seen. But Barriss knows they’re there. Ten of them, to be exact. It’s a Coruscanti house spider, though that’s something of a misnomer. They’re actually native to Chandrila, and came here centuries ago, tucked away among packages and parcels, their webs spun in the dark corners of ships. The name comes from their colour pattern, brown and grey like Coruscant from above. _I heard you’re never more than a few feet from one of these little guys at any time._ That’s what Ahsoka said, ages ago, when she scooped one up off the floor. She let it run over her hands before opening the window and gently blowing it away. _It’s okay, it’ll land on its feet_ , she explained, like Barriss didn’t know.

When _was_ that, anyway? It’s been months since she and Ahsoka were on leave together.

_It’s_ _okay_ , _it’ll_ _land_ _on_ _its_ _feet._ Obviously. It’s a spider. _It’s okay._ Barriss considers turning the tap on and washing the horrible little beast away.

It moves.

It scuttles across the metal basin, and she can hear its tiny feet tapping as it tries to scale the curved walls. But there’s no traction, no grip, and it slides back down again. Stupid creature got itself into this, and now it can’t get out.

She really should trap it under a glass. Slide a piece of flimsi underneath and dump the spider outside. She’s not Ahsoka, she can’t bring herself to actually touch it, but if she grits her teeth and tries not to think about what she’s doing, she can fling it out of the Temple. _It’s okay, it’ll land on its feet_. Maybe through the window on the other side of this communal area. Maybe through the brand-new hole in the wall of the hangar.

It’s late afternoon, at a guess. It’s tipping it down outside. There’s a spider in the sink, and several floors above Barriss, an explosion has just killed Force-only-knows how many people.

Well. Not _just_. The bombs, the nano-droids, went off sometime this morning, but Barriss slept through it. She stayed up until some truly ridiculous hour, lying in bed and looking at meaningless things on her datapad. For the first time in years, she didn’t ping awake at first light. Her internal alarm was switched off, and so she was asleep all morning and well past midday. The explosion must have been relatively quiet, because it wasn’t enough to rouse her. By the time she opened her eyes, the Temple was in chaos, and she had no idea what time it was because she doesn’t have a chronometer in her room. And she couldn’t check on the datapad because it was on all night and the battery went flat. It’s still in her bedroom, charging. And she’s out here, in a deserted communal space, with a kettle in one hand and a spider in the sink.

Can it swim? Would it survive if she ran the water and sent it off down the drain? How long does it take for spiders to drown?

It’s unusually quiet in here. At this hour (whatever hour this is), the place would normally be abuzz with people. People with nowhere better to be, anyway. Younglings with a break between lessons. Padawans pretending to study. More often than not, there are Jedi who’ve just returned from the front and aren’t quite ready to be by themselves, meditating in a corner despite the noise. Today, it’s empty, and the chatter has been replaced by the sound of rain lashing against the windows. Life is on pause. The younglings have all been sent back to their dorms as a precaution. More than a few Jedi are upstairs, identifying bodies, helping however they can. Really, Barriss should go and volunteer herself. There are surely survivors who were injured, and she knows a little about healing. She was going to be a healer, once. No innate talent for it, but she worked hard. Making people better made her happy, and then the war broke out and people started dying and suddenly it all seemed pointless. She’s long since given up trying to improve her healing skills, and started focusing on memorising maps and dishing out orders to clones who generally wind up dead before the week’s out. She never forgets their names. If someone asked her to recite them all in alphabetical order, she could do it backwards.

Despite the rumours, Barriss does not have a photographic memory. She just makes a point of remembering everything.

There’s a spider in the sink and Barriss should go and make herself useful, but she doesn’t want to.

It’s not about avoiding what she’s done. Because at the end of the day, what _has_ she done? It’s not her fault, not really. She didn’t act on a whim. They put her in this position, the Council, the other Jedi. Death and destruction, war and violence, that’s not what the Order is supposed to stand for. They’re meant to be peacekeepers, and all they ever do these days is ensure there’s no peace to keep. If innocent people have died today, that’s not on her. Not _only_ on her. She couldn’t have done anything without help, and likely _wouldn’t_ have done anything without encouragement. So, yes, lives have been lost and it’s all very sad, but it wouldn’t have happened if the Order wasn’t led by warmongering _fools_ , and filled with stupid, stupid people who are all too willing to swing a lightsaber at anything they don’t like the look of.

It’s not her fault no one around here possesses the ability to _think_.

It’s not her fault people have died.

There’s a spider in the sink.

She gingerly places the kettle under the tap and runs the water, careful not to splash the thing. She wonders if there’s something wrong with her. Shouldn’t she feel something? Something more than the nagging fear that someone will find out about her role in the morning’s… events?

Kettle’s full. She puts it back on the stand and flips it on.

It’s not her fault, but she still played a part.

She opens up the cupboard and pulls out a mug and a teabag.

It’s not her fault, but it probably wouldn’t have happened without her.

She rummages in a drawer. Selects a clean-looking spoon.

She’s not a murderer, she just helped out with something that led to a few deaths.

There’s no milk. There’s no fridge, so of course there’s no milk.

It’s not her fault, it’s everyone else’s. She already knew that.

She doesn’t want milk anyway.

They made her part of their war without asking permission. _They_ did this to _her_.

Kettle’s boiled. She pours scalding water into the mug. Stirs.

She’s not a killer. She didn’t point a lightsaber at any of those corpses eight floors up. She didn’t kill them.

She fishes the teabag out. Shakes the spoon over the bin until the bag slides off and plops down on top of the other rubbish.

There’s a spider in the sink.

She’s not the bomb, she’s the bomb maker.

There’s a spider in the sink.

She’s not the crime. She’s a contributing factor.

There’s a spider in the sink, and she is a _contributing_ _factor_. There’s a spider in the sink, and her heart is beating in her ears, and she can’t breathe, except she can, but nowhere near as slowly as she’d like. Her head is swimming. But that could just be— Maybe it’s just that she slept late and hasn’t eaten anything today. That would make anyone feel dizzy. Wouldn’t it? There’s a spider in the sink. _It’s_ _okay_. She’s just made a cup of tea. She’s a contributing factor and a major one at that. Not the leading cause, that’s a little much, but all the same—

“If you’re still there tomorrow,” she tells the spider, voice wavering, “I’ll get you out.”

The spider says nothing. It’s still trying to climb up the sides.

_It’s okay, it’ll land on its feet._

Somewhere far away and all too close, something is cracking.

“I’m sorry,” Barriss whispers. Again, the spider pays her no mind. “I’m sorry I can’t do more. I’m sorry, I’m _sorry_.” She snatches up the cup of tea with both hands, and it’s almost too hot to hold. She turns and hurries away, as fast as she can on her trembling legs. It’s not all her fault, but some of it is. She’s sorry to her core, and she’s not sorry at all. She cares too much and couldn’t care less, and she wants to tell someone what she’s done but doesn’t want anyone to ever know. She wants people to hate her for it, but she doesn’t want anyone to turn their back on her, and she wants someone to slap her across the face and scream at her until she cries, but she wants them to tell her it’s alright, everything is going to be fine, they’ll protect her from what she’s done. She wants to confess and be absolved, but she doesn’t want to do the penance.

Back in her room, sat on the edge of the bed, she grips the mug like it’s an anchor. She might float away without it. Raindrops pelt the window, and she waits for her mind to provide her with some sort of back-up. Somewhere deep down, there must be an emergency defence mechanism. Something to convince her that it’s not that bad, that the impact of her involvement was minimal, and if it wasn’t, so what? So _what?_

Ah. And there it is. It wasn’t buried as deep as she thought. She can feel it kicking in, and she takes a sip of her tea. It burns her tongue. Scorches her throat as she swallows. She raises the mug to her lips again.

* * *

 

A girl wanders into the communal area. She's seventeen, and shaken by what has happened.

She hopes no one she knew was hurt, but she hasn't seen her master all day, and doesn't know if she has it in her to try and contact him. 

It's almost silent in here, and she cannot stand it. 

In the sink, she spots the spider, and sudden panic has her grabbing for the taps, wrenching them up, and the water comes spurting out full force.

Barriss sits in her room, and as she talks herself down, the spider drowns.

 

 

 


End file.
